


Rhythm, Release

by LookingForDroids



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sgrub Session, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, F/M, Mild Painplay, PWP, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:41:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29277873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LookingForDroids/pseuds/LookingForDroids
Summary: Sollux has some unorthodox relaxation techniques. Feferi indulges him, and herself.
Relationships: Sollux Captor/Feferi Peixes
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	Rhythm, Release

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Caracalliope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caracalliope/gifts).



There’s something comforting about stillness.

More than that, there’s something comforting about being _held_ still, with the satin sleekness of the Imperial gown against his thighs and Feferi’s hand on his back, pressing him down into her lap. His thinkpan won’t rest; his body doesn’t have a choice.

That isn’t strictly true – he’s maybe the only one in the palace tonight that she couldn’t immobilize with strength alone – but it’s true enough, right now, while he lets it happen. Bringing psionics into play would ruin the game. But now he’s veering off into his thoughts again, analyzing instead of reacting, and she interrupts him with a short, sharp strike, open-palmed against his ass. The sting of it is mostly heat, already soothed by the cool curve of her hand, and he rocks down against her hips, moving without anything but instinct to drive him.

She stills him with a hand in his hair, pressing his face gently down into the cushions of the concupiscent platform.

“Did I give you perfishion for that?”

“I need permission now?”

“You want it,” she says, and she’s not wrong. There’s a weird satisfaction in knowing exactly what limits to expect, and making the choice to test them or accede. Last time, he pushed every line to the breaking point, and the consequences left him shaking with release. Today, he wants to settle in her lap with her hand in his hair and let her choose how to take him.

Permission or not, she doesn’t chide him when his bulges slip free to curl into the heated space between his abdomen and her gown. There’s no point in reward or punishment for anything outside his conscious control. But she makes a considering noise, and taps him lightly between his legs, over his nook. It sends a charged wave of arousal from the base of his spine up to the tips of his horns, and he doesn’t move. She shifts her grip in his hair enough to stroke the side of her face with conciliatory firmness, and he stays still, though he closes his eyes and feels his breath catch and hold on the verge of release. A second later, she brings her hand down again, and this time it hurts enough to draw a startled hiss from between his fangs. 

“Good?” she asks – with the confidence of practice, but he can hear a real question in her voice, even as one of her fingers returns to rub along the edge of his nook, steady in its pressure, pushing just barely in.

“Yeah,” he gasps, and doesn’t fucking move.

He knows what’s coming next, enough to brace for it but not enough to know where the blow will land until her hand cracks hard against his ass again, on the other side to leave a matching mark. Again, lightly, once and then twice, and he can’t help the desperate sound that escapes him at the realization that she’s being careful to maintain the balance, because fuck, she’s the best. He doesn’t deserve her, but here she is anyway, bearing down with two quick strikes to bruise his inner thighs and the slightest teasing brush of her fingertips against his still-stinging nook. Again. _Again._

The rhythm is unpredictable, or at least he can’t predict it. Same difference. If he can’t, no one can. But there’s a sort of symmetry even there: harsh and then tender, her arm rising and falling with carefully-modulated strength. Small sensations build into a cascade of complexities: her fingers slick with his genetic material, her claws either sharp or absent, her other hand wrapped around the length of one of his outer horns as she holds him in place. He lets the force of each blow carry him, stealing what friction he can and pushing back into the pain until it’s almost enough and very nearly too much. And then, without warning, she stops. Stillness descends again, and he’s left with the sound of his own ragged breathing, the prickle of sweat cooling on his skin and the points of her claws against his inner thigh, above the place where she’d struck him last.

“Go on,” she says. “Perchmission granted.” She sounds a little breathless, and in the lull of sensation he becomes aware for the first time of seadweller tendrils tangling with his bulges through the fabric of her skirts. Between that and the deep ache taking root in his muscles, he can’t begin to argue. He rolls his hips against her, into the grip and twist of a myriad of slender tentacles. He’s floating in an endorphin sea, mind blank with pleasure-pain, and seconds pass without notice. Then her hand slips back between his legs, two fingers curling up and in, and everything tilts and realigns. Every detail fades into the same tense urgency, and when he comes – clenching hard around her hand, spilling hot over her wrist and her gown – it’s almost a surprise.

She lets him rest for a moment after, before she extricates herself from beneath him. Then she lays him down on the platform and bends over him, her skirts hiked up, her legs bare and cool beneath. She’s heavy in a way that steadies him, soft over muscle, and her weight against his bruises is a welcome sort of pain. He feels her lips brush the back of his neck as her tendrils press into him, first one and then –

 _Two,_ he thinks distantly, _yes, good._ The others grasp at his legs, cool on his sore skin as she rocks slow and easy above him. There’s a sound she’s making, a resonant hum low in her throat, and he closes his eyes and sinks into it with a sigh. She can last a long time like this, which means the Imperial security networks and all his projects can wait, and for once he’s content for once to let them. 

There’s nothing to do now except be at rest. He intends to enjoy every minute of it.


End file.
